BlackPack Prompts
by ringerxo
Summary: A series of prompts for the BlackPack Ficathon on LJ. Quileute-centric, mostly angsty. M for language and one lemontastic prompt.
1. Tough Times

**3. Quil & his transformation (tough times), the beach, Forks**

_If you're going through hell, keep going. –Winston Churchill_

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore. The small, cold, wet pebbles raking against him, cooling his feverish skin. The biting wind, whistling, drowning out the sounds of his whimpering.

He lay on the beach, curled into the fetal position, on his side. His senses were heightened, his skin was hot to the touch, and he felt completely and utterly alone.

His clothes were scattered, in shreds, around him. He briefly wondered how he'd get back home without flashing half of the Olympic Peninsula, when he heard the pebbles crunching.

The newcomer smelled like an older brother. Like someone he could trust, should trust – must trust.

He opened his eyes and the reality that he knew crashed down around him, shattered into a million slivers of illuminated glass. The same person who ruined his life was crouching down, holding out a hand to him.

He wanted to yell at the man, curse him, throw every imaginable accusation at him – but suddenly, all he could emit from his throat was a feral growl. He couldn't move before, but he suddenly found himself on all fours, in a crouch, facing the man with bared teeth.

And abruptly, the man disappeared. In his place stood a coal-black wolf of immense size. Its paws were large, its shoulder breadth was wide, and it stared at him with what could only be described as calm authority.

_Do you understand now?_

He started, and then snarled. The black wolf didn't do anything—he just stood there.

_They didn't abandon you. They had no choice._

The snarl turned into a rumbling growl. He bared his teeth again, only to realize that his mouth was full of sharp, pointy incisors. He shut his mouth with an audible _click_, and then stealthily ran his rough tongue over the inside of his jaw.

He whimpered as the realization hit him, hard. He stumbled backwards, horror and helplessness showing in his eyes. He gazed at the black wolf, pleading wordlessly.

_Welcome to the pack._

He let out an almighty howl of pain; it transcended the woods and rose with the mists from the mountains. He continued to howl, all through transforming back into his human form; he found himself sobbing into his knees, arms over his head. A large paw-like hand clamped down on his shoulder. He turned his head to see the man, who he now knew to be the black wolf, holding out a change of clothing with immeasurable pain in his eyes.

The same man, who had stolen his friends and left him drifting, was now his brother.

His friend.

His leader.

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"Why the fuck are you taking me to Forks?"

Silence.

"Answer me, goddamnit!"

"Because I can get you drunk without the whole rez knowing about it."

"Oh." More silence. "Then how the fuck do you expect to sneak me into my house without my mom noticing?"

"You'll sleep over at Jacobs' house. Billy won't mind."

"Won't he be suspicious?"

"He knows."

"How does he kno—"

"He turned before you."

"FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC." Sarcastic. "Are you supplying the fucking nail polish, too?"

A glimmer of a smirk. "If you insist."

Grumble.

More silence.

"So, Sam, wha-"

"Wait for the alcohol, Quil."

"Right. So you can come up with slick answers?"

Brakes squealing. "WHAT THE FU-"

"CAN YOU STOP CURSING FOR ONE MINUTE?!"

Silence.

"Sorry." Low, gritty.

"I need to think about the answers, Quil. I never planned this, you know. It came as a surprise to me as much as it did to you."

"You had Jacob to practice on, didn't you? You need another try?"

Silence, awkward this time.

A sharp intake of breath. "Who else?"

"Embry. And Jared."

"Holy sh- I mean, holy mackerel! How long ago?"

"Jacob was a couple of weeks ago, Embry was about three weeks ago and Jared was a month ago." Pause. "I was two weeks before him." The smooth asphalt rolling under the large wheels of the truck.

Sigh. "Jesus."

"Explaining it is the harde-"

"Well, you've had three to practice on before me, it shouldn't be so hard." Bitter.

"There's no guide for this kind of thing, Ateara. I don't even know what the fuck to do with the situation, and I'm supposed to be the one who knows because-"

"You were first, I get it."

Tense silence.

"No? You weren't first?"

"I was. That's not the point." Controlled. "I'm alpha, Quil."

"Whaaaa...?"

"My response exactly."

Silence.

"So, you're buying, right?" Hopeful.

An arched eyebrow. "Obviously. I'm of age."

"Good. Because I have a feeling that these explanations will require lots of hard liquor."

FIN.

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**A/N: I'd like to thank my dear BETA, darklyromantic AKA Claire, who saved you all from crappy crappiness. Claire, your insight is golden. Thanks a bunch, sweets! =]**

**If someone is reading this and wondering why it wasn't posted on LJ yet, it's because I have a major ass test tomorrow and only seven hours to sleep. If you have no idea what I mean by 'posted on LJ', go to blackpack(dot)livejournal(dot)com, home of those who love La Push and every muscled chest in it. Apropos muscled chest... that's the main feature on the homepage of this fantastic comm, so it's NWS. Hehe. =]**

**Reviews are like coffee - you can never have enough of them!**

**-Mackenzie.**

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	2. Hungry Much?

**10. Emily patching Jake's cutoffs, luchtime, swallowing a button**

_Now, this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning. –Winston Churchill_

E(mily)POV

Nothing could be as calming and invigorating as drinking coffee in the morning, standing on the porch, and basking in the rare warm sun. Of course, Sam could probably name a few things while grinning like a maniac, but there's a limit to everything.

Yes, even to that. I put the limit there, though. Sam doesn't seem to have a limit in... that area.

I sipped at my coffee and closed my eyes, savoring the sun on my face. Since that fateful afternoon when I first met Sam, I have developed many addictions, and all of them stemmed from one source. One of them was a constant craving for warmth. I couldn't stand the cold; neither did I want to try surviving it alone.

I could hear Sam shuffling around in the kitchen, making himself his requisite, masculine large mug of thick, black coffee. I smiled to myself as I heard him cursing when his hip bumped into the counter's corner; we were going to remodel the kitchen, seeing as I was going to live in a house full of werewolves, but until we did, Sam suffered.

A shiver went through me as I grinned, unconsciously adapting the curve of my lips and measure of teeth shown to match Sam's manic grin exactly. I was still trying to grasp at the enigma that was Sam Uley, and especially the fact that I'll be married to him in a few months.

I never expected this to happen, this imprinting. In fact, I would've been satisfied with my life as it was, being the kindergarten teacher on the Makah reservation, watching my cousin's happiness and looking for a husband when I needed to.

Then I came to visit Leah in La Push, and everything was upended. All my plans scattered, forming a brilliant picture that was so beautiful that it hurt to look at.

For me, the world flipped over to the sunny, bright, beautiful side. For Leah, it came crashing down around her head, shattering into tiny, sharp black daggers of pain.

My stomach lurched painfully, just as Sam came up behind me, wrapped his hands around my waist, and rested his chin on my shoulder. I 'hmm'ed absently and took a deep breath. Sam, so attuned to what I was feeling at every moment, nuzzled my neck, and murmured, "What's wrong?"

I sighed. "Leah."

I felt him go completely still behind me, and I cursed myself for invoking her name. It was like a taboo in our house; never mention Leah, unless you want fits of broodiness and sad eyes for the rest of the day (Sam) or sighing and painful inner conflicts (me).

It slipped out by accident, but somewhere inside me, I was glad. The more I ripped off the band-aid, for both of us, the faster we'd heal from it.

We stayed like that, Sam's chin on my neck and his arms around my waist, my hands gripping my coffee cup. He didn't move for at least five minutes; I was racking my brain to think of something to say, knowing that it wouldn't work – nothing I said could ever make him recover completely – when he pressed a warm, slow kiss to my neck, right above where he could feel my pulse racing. I could feel his lips curve against my neck; he was so tortured about his transformation that he couldn't believe that anyone would love him ever again, and every response he got from me buoyed his spirit that much higher.

I 'hmm'ed again, this time a little lower, and set the rapidly cooling mug on the rail. Sam turned me around to face him; our foreheads touched as we gazed into each other's eyes.

He was troubled—I could see it immediately. Behind the pain and helplessness that Leah's name stirred in his eyes, there was an alertness that I associated with danger. Not wanting to alarm him by my reaction, I kissed the tip of his nose and picked up my coffee mug.

"You have to go," I reminded him, a bit shakily (because frankly, after that kiss, I had half a mind to lock him in with me for the rest of the day), "and I have to cook and mend."

He grinned, and I nearly swooned. Again. He pulled on a t-shirt from the clothesline, pulled it on, and vaulted over the railing.

"As you wish," he called over his shoulder. I smiled and went inside.

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I had just finished with the preparations for tonight's barbecue when the phone rang. I picked up the cordless and tucked it between my ear and shoulder.

"Hello?" I picked up the clothes-that-needed-mending basket and carried it to the couch.

"Hey, Ems!"

I smiled and answered back, "Hey, Ems."

Embry chuckled from the other end of the line. It was our own inside joke that our names began with the same two letters. When he nicknamed me Ems, I retaliated by calling him the same thing.

"Anything you need for tonight?" he asked. I thought and suddenly, an Idea struck me.

"Yeah!" I exclaimed. "Marshmallows!"

"Huh?"

"I'm marinating the steaks already, and the chicken's cut and seasoned, so all we need is the potatoes, which are under Sam's care, so you can bring marshmallows, to toast over the coals when the meat's finished," I explained happily, threading a needle. I readjusted the phone and picked up the first item in the basket, a pair of Jake's old cutoffs that he had asked me to mend. He was using them much more often, now that his growth spurt had slowed down. Full-length pants were too restrictive, and I had a sneaking suspicion there was a certain female resident of Forks that he was trying to impress.

My stomach grumbled, and I noted that it was nearly two o'clock. Time flies when you're cooking for mythical creatures.

"Ems?"

"Hmmm? Oh, sorry," I said absently. "I was just thinking of Jake and Bella." I instantly regretted blurting that out, but Embry's laugh reassured me.

"He's one lucky man, don't you think?" I could hear his wistful tone across the wires; my heart constricted. I kept my tone neutral as I asked, "Why's that?"

As my needle slid through the fabric, reattaching the flapping back pocket to its place, Embry said, "Well, he's had a thing for Bella forever. And not only does the leech leave, but he leaves her broken—"

I pulled the needle hard; the thread went taut. "And that's a good thing." My tone was flat. I continued stitching angrily, being extra-careful of the symmetry. My hands didn't shake; they just turned rigid.

"No!" Embry was instantly contrite. "No, no, no. I just meant... damn it." He cursed under his breath and continued talking, his tone conciliatory. "I meant that it's good that the leeches left. Now Jake gets the girl. Besides," and here his tone softened, "it's what's best for her. Jake's head over heels for her, he'd do anything to make her happy, to keep her safe. And..."

He didn't need to continue that sentence; we both knew what he wasn't saying. i_He has blood running through his veins; he's alive._/i

I swallowed, my eyes suddenly misty, and realized that I had finished with the back pocket of Jacob's cutoffs. I laid them aside, rethreaded the needle, and pulled out the next item, Quil's plaid flannel shirt.

"Ems, what's the deal with La Push and plaid?" I asked curiously. I pulled a small brown button out of my pouch and started stitching it to its place on the shirt.

"Huh. HUH. I really don't know. Weird, right?"

"Mm-hmm." I was already holding two more buttons, identical to the first, in my mouth, seeing as his cuffs were missing them.

"Gotta go, Ems, Jake's on my cell. Seeya. Can't wait for the steaks!" he called out enthusiastically, and then he was gone.

I let the phone fall from its perch to the sofa, since my hands were busy with a thread and needle. My stomach grumbled again, but I was too engrossed in sewing to throw something together for me to eat. _If I don't eat something before tonight, I might feel more connected to the pack... by eating as much as they do._

I was finished stitching the second button when Sam walked in. His clothes were filthy; I arched an eyebrow, but said nothing – I couldn't if I wanted to, because of the button still held between my lips.

Something about his face made me pause and take a better look at him. His face was taut, as if he was angry, or trying to control his emotions. His lips were set in a thin line, and his eyes were like two unfathomable black pools of rage.

"Alice Cullen is in Forks."

I opened my mouth to gasp, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. Something small and hard was stuck, and suddenly I realized: _The button._ It had slipped through my lips and down my windpipe, lodging itself there and constricting my airflow.

My eyes widened and I tried to suck in air; Sam's eyes widened and he darted to my side. I gestured at my throat, trembling; I could see the black spots already, blossoming before my eyes.

Suddenly, I was hefted into the air; Sam's arms came around my waist, this time in a death grip, as he slammed his fists into my solar plexus.

I lurched forwards, and the button flew out of my windpipe and _ping_ed against the window. I was surprised that it didn't crack it.

We stood like that for the longest time; catching my breath quickly turned to sobbing as Sam's arms tightened around me and held me fast to him.

"We'll be fine," he whispered into my ear. I could hear the authority in his voice cracking. "They won't come back again." His voice caught on the _again_, and I nearly screamed.

"Everything will be fine, Emily. Don't worry."

_How can I not worry?_ I wanted to yell at him. _How can I not agonize over the danger you're putting yourself in?_

But I said nothing, as we rocked back and forth, like babies that needed to be comforted in the darkest hour.

Nothing will ever be fine, ever again.

FIN.

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**A/N: And again, kudos to darklyromantic. I have to sign off quickly and I had no chance to give this chapter more than a cursory glance, so if there's anything I haven't posted, let me know =]**

**-Mackenzie.**

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